Six Months
by ScaredandConfused
Summary: Angsty oneshot. A take on the 5 stages of coping with death. JPK.


A/N Just a little angsty one-shot I wrote today. Not to everyone's taste I know. At somepoint I might write some more happy fics, but it simply isn't where my head is right now.

Disclaimer - I don't own HO/Characters/Storylines/blahdiblah. If I did, JS, JH and BS wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

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**Six Months**

Another bar, another pint of cheap beer.

_Did life ever get easier?_

_Would things ever change?_

It was amazing how philosophical he became with a pint in his hand. When the numbness washed over him, when the pain subsided, the questions started.

_How did he get here?_

Six months ago, he had though he had everything. A loving fiancé, good friends, and a home. Six months ago, nothing had mattered. It hadn't mattered that he had given up his old life, the new one he was just beginning was perfect. Too perfect.

Was it really six months? A new year had started, but he didn't care. It hadn't changed him, he hadn't made any resolutions, he was sitting in yet another pub, drinking yet another glass of cheep beer.

Alone.

He was always alone now. Apart from those nights where he needed someone so much he had sought company. For a few moments, he could forget, but it was never the same. And in the morning, in the cold light of day, he felt worse.

He never stayed in the same place for long, either. Always moving around, searching, desperately for something, for someone, to cling on to.

_Searching for him_.

Even now, after all this time, if he saw _him_ again, he'd still forgive _him_. Still beg _him_ to take him back. Still love _him_.

He didn't care that _he_ had cheated on him, that _he_ chosen to be with that boy, that he had betrayed everything their relationship was about, everything the man at the bar believed in, because he still loved _him_. Completely, undeniably in love with _him_.

The barman placed another pint in front of him, and he handed over the change. The places might change, but the ritual was still the same. Drink enough to forget, and often a little more, before returning to whichever shabby B&B he was staying in to pass out. A month here, a month there, he always found some way of making some cash. He hadn't known he could be so resourceful before he began this nomadic existence.

A loud noise rattled his internal contemplation. The barman was ringing the bell, and he glanced down at his pint. It was half empty; he might as well get another. More money changed hands. By the time he had finished his last drink, he was tired. Woozy even. Soon to be heading to the blissful land of nod. Half a smile even slid across his face as he thought of sleep. The simple relief of it. And maybe, as often happened, _he_ would visit him in his dreams. They were always happy dreams, never sad, often memories he still held dear. Their first kiss, in the SU, their second, after the fun run, and so many of the moments that had happened afterwards. In his sleep, their relationship had never ended, he had never been betrayed, and everything was perfect, just like it had been.

Six months ago, everything had been perfect.

Six months ago, he had been the happiest he had ever been in his entire life.

Six months ago, he had been with the love of his life.

And now he had nothing. No one. And he would give anything to have _him_ back.

Six months ago, _he_ had still been alive.

He hadn't really admitted it to himself, yet. That the love of his life would never, could never come back. Because the day _he_ had torn their relationship apart, was also the last day _he_ had walked on this earth.

**Denial.**

An accident, that's what _his_ mother had said. _He_ hadn't seen the bus coming towards him at thirty miles per hour. Hadn't seen it, hadn't heard it, and _he_ had stepped out in front of it. A tragic end to such a short life.

He hadn't been able to comprehend it, not even now, almost six months since it had happened. He had pushed it to the back of his mind, ignoring it, preferring to believe that _he_ was still out there somewhere, happy with his lover, and that someday he might see _him_ again. It was all an illusion, a mythology he had built up for himself, but he couldn't stand it anymore.

Stumbling, he let himself into the latest of his cheap rooms. He threw himself onto the bed, and lay there, still fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. Usually, his lids would start to feel heavy about now. He would close his eyes, and see _his_ staring back at him, drawing him into the land of sleep.

But not tonight.

Tonight he was awake.

Tonight, a new emotion was stirring inside of him, an emotion he could not control.

It wasn't fear, or emptyness, or loneliness, those he felt every night; this emotion was different.

"Aaaargh" he cried out. He didn't know where this had come from, but he knew what it was now.

**Anger.**

He was angry. Angry with _him _for the way _he_ had treated him. At how quickly _he_ had cheated, at how quickly _he_ had betrayed him, at how quickly _he_ had torn them apart. But he couldn't stay angry at _him_ for long, and soon the anger turned onto himself. At how weak and stupid he had been. At how pathetic his attempts to fight for them had been. At how much he had asked from _him_. At how fast he had walked away.

Too many irrational thoughts seared through his mind, the anger boiling up inside, fury causing him to hate himself.

But then, just as soon as it had come, the anger was gone.

This time, however, it wasn't replaced by the loneliness; it was replaced by another emotion, one which was spurred on by his thoughts of weakness and stupidity.

Guilt.

He shouldn't have walked away so fast. He should have let _him_ say his peace, to explain. If he hadn't left _him_ so upset, he could have prevented this. It couldn't have been just an accident, it must have been preventable. He had been too caught up in thoughts of their failed relationship, of _his_ betrayal of him, and he could have prevented this.

**Bargaining**

If he could just have some time. Some time to let _him_ say _his_ peace, then he would never be so rash again. He would never sin again, never be so judgemental, never be so impulsive, if he could just have some time, some more time, with him. Some time to apologise, some time to hear the whole story, some time to ascertain the facts.

He couldn't have anymore time; _he_ had none left to give.

_He_ was gone. Forever.

_He_ was dead.

And now a tidal wave of emotion hit him, emotion he had been holding back for so long. Tears were falling from his eyes, and he made no effort to wipe them clear.

**Depression.**

The tears fell harder and harder, with no clear signs of stopping. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in nearly six months, he didn't see those deep blue eyes. He still didn't know how he was going to go on, how he was going to keep living, but for the first time in nearly six months he was finally, cataclysmically aware of one thing, the one truth, he had kept hidden from himself. _He_ was dead. He cried and cried and cried, tears he believed would never end, but for the first time in nearly six months, he could finally say _his_ name.

John Paul.

John Paul Anthony Sebastian McQueen.

John Paul was dead.

**Acceptance**.

John Paul was dead, and there was nothing, he, Kieron Hobbs, could do about it.

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Thanks for reading! Little A/N - whether guilt is one of the stages of dying or whether it is part of bargaining is a little up to interpretation. Kubler-Ross think one thing, my sociology proffessor said another (which is why it isn't in bold). Comments (on that or on the fic itself) are always greatfully appreciated!


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